


Of Love, Demons and Other Things

by sun_cha



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Origin Story, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sun_cha/pseuds/sun_cha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First time here, so be gentle!</p><p>This is going to be a fairly long story of my Femquisitor Sonya Trevelyan (Human, rogue) and her growing relationship with Cullen, complete with slow burning tension that is resolved (eventually). It will also go into her back story and key moments of the game focusing on her point of view and her interactions with other characters as well. This first chapter doesn't do much in terms of their relationship but it will develop over time. I'm trying to make it all feel a bit more organic in the context of the serious events of the story so that things are a bit more emotionally involved when they finally do kick off.</p><p>Feedback appreciated :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Love, Demons and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene picks up after the explosion at the Conclave and the battle prior to arriving at Haven. Sonya is tired, hurt and bewildered. She considers the events that have happened and her life before this. She also meets some other characters.

“Sonya, is everything alright?”

“Sorry, what?” Sonya Trevelyan replied, snapping out of her reverie and focusing on the others in the room, who were all now eyeing her with concern.

“You seem… distracted.” It was Cullen who had spoken, the Inquisition’s Commander. He stood before the war table, looking imposing in his heavy suit of armour and thick furs, one hand resting comfortably on the pommel of his sword.

“Sorry. Yes, I…” she paused, frowning and staring at the floor. “I just can’t believe that this is really happening.”

“Oh, my dear, of course this has been too much for you,” Another, Josephine, came and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “We should let you rest, get you some clean clothes and a bath, I think.” She turned to look at the other two women pointedly.

A look passed between Cassandra and Leliana, and then with a sigh, Cassandra spoke.

“I suppose we could retire for the evening.” She turned to Cullen. “Are you satisfied, Commander?”

“No, but it is all we have at the moment. We’ll make it work.”

“Fine. We’ll reconvene at dawn.” With this Cassandra turned and strode out of the room, her large Seeker’s sword and shield clinking lightly against her armour. Leliana gave the others a nod and followed her out.

Josephine took Sonya by the arm. “Let me show you to your room, my dear.” She moved to lead Sonya out the room, leaving Cullen standing over the large map that had been laid out over the table in Haven’s Chantry. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before the door closed, and she could see fatigue and uncertainty in them. She knew the feeling, tenfold.

* * *

Sonya sat by the mirror. She felt numb. Attendants had come to help strip her of the bloodied and torn clothes that she had worn during the Conclave and had then scrubbed away the gore and dirt from the battle at the rift. They avoided her left hand, which now carried the glowing green mark. She could tell that they were afraid of her, and she did not blame them. She too was afraid. They helped her into a clean robe and combed the knots out of her long, dark hair before hurriedly bidding her goodnight.

She was alone now in the small, sparse room. She considered her reflection in the mirror, her exhausted pale green eyes staring back at her. She gently touched a new small scar over her lower lip. She wondered which demon had given it to her. It was all a blur.

She had never fought anyone before, and the experience made the years of “practicing” with daggers on imaginary foes in her room in Ostwick feel trivial.

Ostwick. Her home. She thought of her parents, who by now would have been sent word by the Inquisition that she was alive. She thought of them now with longing, which was very different to how she had felt before the Conclave.

Sonya was the only child of the noble Trevelyan family in Ostwick, and so had had her parents’ hopes and expectations thrust upon her from an early age. They had hoped that one day she would rise to prominence within the Chantry, however, Sonya had other ideas. 

She found ways to sneak out of the family estate, often being caught and carried back, biting and kicking, to a worried mother. Despite curfews and attendants, as Sonya got older she became better at evading capture. Melda, a kitchen cook, had taken kindly to her and had provided her with ways to escape. It was she who had given Sonya her first “daggers”; two small kitchen knives to be used if there was trouble out in the streets. Sonya’s developing street smarts meant that she never actually had to use them.

Melda had many nephews, and Sonya took to following them around town, learning to drink and swear and make mischief. Sonya enjoyed this greatly, and much preferred their rowdy company to that of the fluffy noble girls at court.

Those days now felt so far away. The explosion had changed everything. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Her memories from the event were blurry and unclear. She had been telling the truth when Cassandra had harshly questioned her; there had been a glowing figure of an unknown woman, but she could remember little else.

She stood and untied the robe, looking at the bruises, angry and purple over her brown skin. She ran her fingers over one and winced. Tying the robe, she lay down on the hard bed. She could feel the painful pulsations from the mark, and it took her a long time to fall asleep. When she did, her dreams were of death and demons.


End file.
